Choices
by slowread
Summary: Post season 3 - there's no place like home. Sometimes choices are really choices at all.


Had this idea swirling in my mind since the finale. Thought I'd get it out before we get too far into the new season.

Still working on other fics but been busy trying learn tumblr (so confusing – so yeah if there are any volunteers for teaching…) and studying.

As usual let me know if you like this one.

**Choices**

The loud knocking is the first thing that Regina registers as she groans from her sleep. Her muscles protest as she attempts to call her body to a stand. The crumpled mayoral dress is uncomfortably creased, no doubt leaving a red patchwork imprint on her skin. However, despite the nausea there's a sense of clarity that comes from days of intermittent cider-induced comas, and slowly but surely, the events of the week begin to unfold in her mind's eye.

The Curse.

Emma and the pirate's ridiculous time-traveling adventure.

Marion's re-appearance.

_And, once again, Emma fucking Swan…_

By this thought, Regina has dragged herself to the entryway. She takes a second to straighten out her clothes and coif her hair; more out of habit than anything else. Regina's not stupid, she can only imagine the state she's in. Still, perhaps her past meticulous nature is enough of a mask to endure the next 5 minutes because when she swings the door open she's almost confident as a familiar sneer slides into place.

The heartbreak actually vanishes for a second, before the image of the person on the other side brings it all back, _amplified._

Blonde lightly curled hair frames smooth remorseful features. Vibrant green eyes are compelling in their honesty and capacity to hope and trust. And, Regina can't help her first thought. _Pretty__…_

She's long since accepted the quickened thump-thump-thump of her phantom heart and the rush of _magic_ that excites her every nerve ending. Whether it's because her craft thinks Emma as a friend or foe, Regina has never been able to figure out. _The pull is all the same. _

It's an instinctual need to be near, to covet and to want to merge into something more magnificent. Gold had always been right about one thing. Power attracts power. There's never a thing as enough. The only part that bothers Regina is how emotions started to become entangled into the mess. Feelings that had nothing to do with: anger, scorn and rage. Looking down at her hands now, she still has trouble fathoming the white magic that had come from them.

After the battle with Wicked, Henry had congratulated her. Her son had looked up at her with so much adoration, _finally_ vindicated in his belief of her goodness. That alone should have been all the explanation she needed to laugh, smile and move along as one of the members of the heroic royal family. It should have been, _but it wasn__'__t_. Regina can act. She's done it all her life and she's still doing it now, because, as much that event benefitted her; it had also ripped her foundations apart. Regina doesn't understand magic like she used to and most days, she's also no longer sure that she can trust it.

The evil queen is drowning in _supposedly good things_ and nobody comprehends it.

Well, maybe… nobody but Emma Swan…because that derealisation is in her countenance too. A snicker escapes. Regina wonders if that is their defect; an inability to endure happiness even as it's _thrust_ upon them. So it's possibly empathy that stops her from slamming the door in the saviour's face and instead a tired statement is all there is.

"What do you want Emma?"

A mouth opens to say something but no sounds come out. Emma's brow's furrow in self-reproach as she fidgets with the zipper of her red leather jacket. The blonde isn't actually sure how she got here. One moment she's having dinner with her family; her mother, father, baby brother, Henry and even Hook; and the next she was standing out in the dark staring at the mailbox of 108 Mifflin Street. She could still hear the white noise of everyone's jokes and laughter before they were all glancing in her direction waiting for some kind of response. Their bated breaths spoke volumes on expectations and the overvaluing of her thoughts. They smiled encouragingly as if nothing she said could possibly be wrong and it was in that split second _when the panic hit_. Her mouth was dry. Her palms were sweaty. And as the room spun, suffocated was the only feeling she had.

_Because…Emma knew she could be wrong. In fact, she could be unforgivable…_

"Haven't you done enough?"

Regina's stern question cut through the silence. This time, the blonde isn't even given a chance to respond.

"_Did you really want to ensure the fact that I wouldn't even be able to pick myself up this time?"_

The queen's chest heaved as the unrestricted emotions sailed out. Emma is motionless. The blonde's features are marred by sadness as the bags under her eyes seem to become more pronounced with each subsequent time visit here. There's not sense of bravery as her shoulders drop and she's so far from the person drawn Henry's favoured book.

"I'm so—"

The apology is cut off. Regina actually sick of hearing it and a large part of her doesn't want this. She doesn't to deal with this _repentant _Emma that _pities her_.

"You're sorry. I know. Everybody is always sorry. Your mother was sorry afterwards too. But, as much as I hated her for what she's done; _she _was just _a child!"_

There's nothing but fury to her powerful movement as she invades Emma's space. And, Regina wants destruction. She wants to start something dirty. She wants to lose herself in sharp insults and biting sarcasm. In the end, she just wants to watch Rome, or in this case Storybrooke: _burn…_

"What are you Emma? What's your _excuse_?"

Regina is so close that Emma can't function reasonably; drawing out her fight, fuck or flight response. The blonde is so afraid to breathe. All it would take would be one slip-up, and then the smell of apples, books and _sophistication with a fancy name_ would take over her mind. So, she shakes her head roughly and steps back. She swallows slowly, letting the truth bleed into her words.

"I don't have one."

Emma holds the older woman's gaze and tries to be someone that Regina can respect. She doesn't know why the resolution of this is so important to her.

"There's no excuse. It was a mistake, but _it's always going to be one that I made."_

The steadfast admission resounds in the strangely empty living space. Any mounting tension is halted as the soldier on the other side of the trenches _surrenders willingly._

Regina finds herself nodding scathingly as the adrenaline begins to leave her system. At least Emma was honest. In the absence of any other good traits, it's the closest to a _redeeming feature. _

Briefly, it occurs to her for just a moment, how many times they've done this dance; how more often than not Regina goes to sleep a little later in the expectation of scattered rapping on her door, a sheepish smile and stale donuts from the nearest 24/7 convenience store. Regina doesn't know when those rabbit hole arguments would fade so easily into important conversations. She _didn't want_ to know when those interactions with _the saviour,_ out of all people, started to replace the stash of cider in her cupboards or Xanax in her bedside drawer. And it infuriates her that these days it only takes the slow disappearance the taillights of that godforsaken yellow deathtrap to bring Regina closer to her dreams as her eyes close. _That,_ after their midnight truce, when Emma eventually and very clumsily climbs behind the wheel; _it's a goodbye that doesn't hurt_. Somehow, the effects of the day dissipates and the so-called queen thinks that she almost has it right. _Almost_.

So, in the current scene, Regina simply opens her door wider and walks further into the den. It's as close to an invitation as she was willing to manage and when she hears the hesitant footfalls behind her, her voice just sounds resigned as begins to move the plates around to reveal three bottles of potent amber liquid. She ignores the tremors in her hand registering that there's no intention in her mind to be functional in the morning.

"So, _saviour_, tell me when you feeling sorry undoes _any of this._"

The title causes Emma to flinch. Inadequacies swirl behind vibrant green eyes and her mouth falls open at a loss. Regina laughs hollowly; it's strangely therapeutic to see the strong break, because when heroes fall from their pedestals; they don't simply crack, _no, instead - they shatter…_ And a large part of the queen just wants to hurt. She want to see how far she can push the knife in before Emma bleeds resentment, anger and hostility_ just like the rest of them._

"I - Regina, I don't know what to do."

However, there are moments when Regina can see it. She can actually comprehend why Emma is so suited to the role that she was handed. Because, despite all the continuous disasters and ungrateful townspeople, the blonde was _just. She__'__s kind. _And she's so _unpredictable in her capacity to make the most of her lot in life - _to be content with morsels when everyone else has more.

"Regina, I don't know why I'm here."

The most amusing and perhaps ironic part of it all was that all these qualities that made Emma what others needed, had nothing to do with prophecy, magical abilities or even some ridiculous genetic link to the charming-white family. Instead, what made Emma, _the saviour_, was being sharing a room with six other orphans. It was being the last desolate child standing as rejection repeatedly took its toll and disillusionment began to set in. It was being forced to fend for herself in the land of the grey.

"Henry fits in. He's our son. He has my eyes, my nose and loves X-box games, but in this respect _he__'__s yours_."

On some nights, Regina feels guilt about it. In Neverland, Emma had confessed to be a lost child. It was the first time she stood up for herself against the path laid out by her parents. Regina had respected that. She had even been slightly impressed by the growing backbone, wit and leadership. By accepting the truth, Emma learnt to meld her past and her present, finding magic and some kind direction. Maybe that's why Regina is so caught off-guard by the uncertainty that's exhibited now, especially when the battle had already been won.

"_Fairytales_, it's not something that he has to _try_ to believe in. It doesn't make him feel _trapped_…"

It takes a while but there it is: the crux of the matter. It was the discontentment that would always persist and drown the blonde's mind with thoughts of '_what if_.'Emma wasn't raised to accept the constraints of storybook archetypes and inevitable plot lines that dictate life. She has a kingdom on her shoulders and she doesn't even believe in her capacity to comprehend, let alone rule and protect. Emma doesn't believe in the truth of her citizens because she still doesn't think that she belongs. Most days, she's confused to whether her acquiescence to everything so far had more with herself or the unconscious mimicking of Henry's values.

"Storybrooke paints me as the saviour. Hook claims that I'm his soulmate. And Neil will eventually want me as a sister. But I don't know…"

There's a break to her voice as she clenches her jaw and inhales stiffly though her nose. Her fists are white and trembling, with her head hung. The very image would tug at Regina's heart-strings if she hadn't placed the very beating organ in her safe for the night. Still, there's a certain measure of agony to the blonde's that makes her Regina flinch.

"I can't connect with it…"

Pause. This time Emma looks up with distressed glassy eyes.

"_I can't make this real." _

This time, Regina snickers. For all those speeches about unity and home, Emma still couldn't find enough reasons to be in Storybrooke and experience some spectrum of emotion other than responsibility and quiet resignation. Regina might not like Emma right now but they share this common ground: a refusal to just go with the endings that had already been written for them. The queen barely registers her own voice when it comes out.

"Its such a sad thing isn't it?"

The question is met with a patient stare. Regina trails her finger along the shining ridges of the crystal tumblers.

"The very idea of having a choice."

When she turns around there's a drink in her hands and she raises her glass humourlessly.

"In this life, there's no bigger deception."

Pushing herself away from the makeshift drinking station, Regina strides up the the blonde and gestures softly. They're so close but the queen has her eyes on a point on the far wall as she speaks.

"_Soul mates."_

Taking a slight stumble back, she waves her hands in a flourish. Briefly, a purple mist swirls around her body to reveal a dark leather dress: stunning in its regality and threat of danger. Emma can't help but gasp as she thinks that she can feel her blood rushing new life to her organs. The blonde hasn't tried very hard to understand her reactions to the older woman in front of her. Some of it due to the taboos put in place, but mostly because Emma knew enough about its nature to see that the explanations wouldn't help. It wouldn't change the outcome. _They_, couldn't' get past their own broken pieces.

Regina raises her eyebrow at Emma's response as she looks down disdainfully. Her voice is almost small when she continues.

"Black Queen."

A slow step forward and her fingertips rest lightly on the lapels of Emma's jacket.

"_White knight."_

A strangled sound erupts from her throat and she turns away again. In the space of three steps in the opposite direction, the fragility fades away and the fury comes back.

"Robin is a good man."

Emma closes her eyes at the harsh chuckle that punctuates the statement. Her chest spasms uncomfortably and she tenses. Admittedly, she hadn't known the man for long but she can't help the lack of a desire to interact and luxuriate in his company. Emma couldn't help but be much more that just curious about the brilliance of Regina's giddy grin as the older woman had slipped into the room to discuss _maybe_ teaching Emma magic after rendezvous with Robin. Emma couldn't fathom how he managed to linger safely within Regina's barricaded walls as if he belonged; _as if he deserved the ticket he never had to earn._

In the end, it's only when she looks up and sees the same confusion in Regina's eyes that Emma realises that she might not be the only one. She thinks, despite Gold's protests to contrary, Regina might also be suspicious of magic's ability to manufacture and manipulate emotions. So, Emma simply waits and listens. She watches Regina make rounds around bookcases and furnishings, seemingly just as lost.

"After all I've done, he's supposedly the one to love me for all my faults."

There's a slow inhale before Regina's sarcastic tone blankets the room.

"…According to_ magical grains of dust_, he's meant to be my happy ever after…"

And, finally the queen pivots to glare at Emma before finishing softly.

"_I've never heard of such a joke."_

There's just enough grief in her statement to break the blonde. Emma, who has been fighting so hard to keep her distance; to keep from trying to comfort and _save the so-called evil queen; _gives in. She relies on instinct because can't leave it alone. So, before their minds catch up Emma has made it in front of Regina. And in the brief instant that those dark eyes look up without their usual guardedness, Emma is almost convinced that she's gotten past the queen's defenses safely. She leans closer so there are only centimeters in between.

However, they never close the gap. Regina sighs and lets the moment drag on a little longer than she should before pulling away. She walks to her decanter of apple cider and fights the urge to destroy something because despite the strange energy that would run rampant when they were in each other's proximity; they never really had that choice.

Gripping the neck of the bottle, Regina doesn't bother looking back. By the time the chilled liquid touches her lips Emma will be gone.

Emma will be back in the lovesick pirate's arms, and if the fates are kind, the blonde will only feel that frantic fear every once in a while. If she's lucky, she'll only give Regina a cursory glance when they cross paths next.

Because, the thing about choices is that it's an illusion.

Because, as much as they serve to show you what or who you _can_ have; it does a far better job of showing you who you can't…


End file.
